


"it would take a miracle"

by talkwordytome



Series: CAOS pre-canon kid!fics & family!fics [1]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Family, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Canon, Sickfic, Zelda Spellman deserves ALL the love & ALL the care & ALL the affection dammit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:35:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23267077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkwordytome/pseuds/talkwordytome
Summary: “We should get her a treat at the market,” Sabrina said decisively. “Treats always make me feel better when I’m sick. Like when I had that very terrible sore throat and you let me eat all the rainbow sherbet ice cream I wanted. But Aunt Zee probably doesn’t like rainbow sherbet ice cream, so we’ll have to get her something else.”“You know what, Sabrina?” Hilda said, winking. “I’m sure that between the two of us we’ll come up with something brilliant.”or: in which Zelda Spellman is sick & the other Spellmans rally to care for her.
Relationships: Ambrose Spellman & Hilda Spellman & Sabrina Spellman & Zelda Spellman, Ambrose Spellman & Sabrina Spellman, Hilda Spellman & Sabrina Spellman, Hilda Spellman & Zelda Spellman, Sabrina Spellman & Zelda Spellman
Series: CAOS pre-canon kid!fics & family!fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1676038
Comments: 15
Kudos: 71
Collections: CAOS pre-canon kid!fics & family!fics





	"it would take a miracle"

**Author's Note:**

> So I don't know how many people besides me will enjoy this, but the world is in such sad, dire straits lately that I just felt compelled to write something very sweet & very fluffy to make myself feel better.
> 
> I really would like to write more pre-canon fics, I think; I've read some really brilliant ones on here, & I quite enjoy getting to explore the Spellman family dynamics/how they became the way they are.
> 
> This fit is set in the same universe as CAOS, just, y'know, approximately ten years before the first episode.
> 
> The title is a reference to something Miracle Max says in _The Princess Bride_ when Westley et al are about to storm the castle, & refers to the fact that it would take a miracle to get Zelda to admit she's sick. Maaaaaaybe not my best title, but hey. It works.
> 
> I own neither CAOS nor its characters!

**November 2009**

The doors to Greendale Elementary School yawned wide, spilling dozens of tripping, yelling children out into the bright, clear November afternoon. Hilda Spellman beamed when she caught sight of her niece’s gap-toothed grin from across the schoolyard. Sabrina bounded towards her, all elbows and skinned knees, and Hilda couldn’t help but marvel at the taller-every-day 1st grader who had come to live with them all those years ago.

“Look what we made today in art, Auntie!” Sabrina said breathlessly after hugs had been exchanged. She handed Hilda a painting, still ever so slightly damp in some spots. “We were learning about Monet and we got to do our own versions of his flower paintings. Isn’t mine pretty? Miss Carr said it was. Miss Carr is the nicest _ever_ , Aunt Hilda, she always lets me and Susie stay a little late after specials to help clean up. She says she can only let kids she really trusts do that.”

“It’s _beautiful_ , sweets,” Hilda said, relieved—as she was every day when she picked Sabrina up—that she had won the “no homeschooling” argument with Zelda. Sabrina was too lively and bright to be stuck inside the old, drafty house all day, learning her lessons in solitude. There would be time enough for her to figure out her path later. “You can tell me all about your day as we walk, darling, but we really do need to get going; we have a few errands to run on our way home.”

“Okay,” Sabrina shrugged, then slipped her small, warm hand inside of Hilda’s. “Bye, Roz!” she shouted, waving frantically with her free hand. Six-year-old Roz waved back, smiling sheepishly behind thick glasses, as her stern faced father led her away.

Sabrina’s chattering resumed the moment they set out. “Miss Bellamy let us write poems today,” she said. “About nature. We got to go on a walk before we started writing them so we could be _inspired_. She said it was too nice outside to be stuck indoors. Isn’t inspired the loveliest word, Auntie Hilda? Miss Bellamy always uses grown-up words like that and if we don’t know what they mean we can just ask her and she never makes fun of us. I think I feel inspired the most of all when I’m out in the woods behind our house and I look up at the sky and it’s so big like it could swallow me. But I know it won’t because it’s a good sky.” She paused briefly for breath, swinging the arm that held Hilda’s hand. “Where do we have to go before home?”

“Hmm? Oh,” Hilda said, “just to the farmer’s market to pick up a few herbs for your Auntie Zee and some dinner for all of us.”

“Which herbs?” Sabrina asked, jumping over a small crack in the sidewalk. 

“Some valerian root and peppermint, and maybe a bit of feverfew.” 

Sabrina frowned, a small crease appearing in her forehead. “What does she need them for?” she asked. “Does her head hurt?”

“Smart girl!” Hilda said warmly. “We’ll make a little herbalist out of you yet, darling. But, yes, your Aunt Zelda does have just a _touch_ of headache. I’m going to make her something that should help.”

“Is she sick?” Sabrina asked, briefly letting go of Hilda’s hand so she could turn a clumsy pirouette. 

“Mm, well, your Auntie will have you know that she’s never been sick a day in her life,” Hilda said. “ _Spellmans don’t get sick_ , or some other such nonsense like that.”

“I’m a Spellman and I get sick sometimes.”

“Ah, yes, but you’re seven,” Hilda said gravely. “ _You_ are a walking germ factory, my love. Lick any playground equipment today?”

Sabrina giggled and stuck out her tongue. “Very funny,” she said, though the faraway look on her face made it clear she was still pondering what her Aunt Hilda had said. “Can grown-up witches even get sick?”

“We can,” Hilda confirmed, “though we don’t very often. Once every, oh, seventy-five years or so.”

“We should get her a treat at the market,” Sabrina said decisively. “Treats always make me feel better when I’m sick. Like when I had that very terrible sore throat and you let me eat all the rainbow sherbet ice cream I wanted. But Aunt Zee probably doesn’t like rainbow sherbet ice cream, so we’ll have to get her something else.”

“You know what, Sabrina?” Hilda said, winking. “I’m sure that between the two of us we’ll come up with something brilliant.”

~~~

“Ambrose? Auntie Zee? We’re home!”

“Frog-face!” Ambrose said, descending the stairs two at a time. He swept Sabrina into his arms and held her upside down so her head was nearly brushing the floor. “How was school?”

“Good,” Sabrina said, giggling hysterically, cheeks pinkening as the blood rushed to them. “We learned about Monet in art class.”

“You know, I’ve met Monet,” Ambrose said, swinging Sabrina up and over his shoulder. “Nice guy. Big fan of flowers, him.”

“Let your cousin down and help me put away the groceries,” Hilda commanded, already bustling into the kitchen. “I’ve picked up the ingredients to make an absolutely scrumptious ratatouille. Where’s Zelda? How’s she feeling?”

Ambrose rolled his eyes. “She’s in the study, pretending to be extremely busy and important so she doesn’t have to admit that she’s got a cold,” he said.

Hilda pouted. “Poor lamb,” she sighed. “I thought she might. She was ever so pale this morning. Sabrina, love,” she said, and Sabrina looked up from her spot on the kitchen rug, where she lay drawing patterns with her finger. “Can you fix your Auntie Zee a nice big cuppa, petal? You can fill the kettle without spilling, hmm?”

Sabrina nodded earnestly, happy to be given a job to do. “Would chamomile be good?” she asked. “With lemon and extra honey?”

“Perfect,” Hilda said. “Make sure you’ve got two hands on that kettle, dear, it gets heavy. Ambrose, help her get the stove going, please. We don’t want any burned fingers, now do we? There you are, that’s a good love! Ambrose, can you chop up the oregano and basil? And Sabrina, be a good girl and wash these vegetables. Many hands make light work, hens.”

The kitchen was cozy and fragrant, and Hilda fondly watched as Sabrina and Ambrose set about completing their various tasks. She truly didn’t know what she had done before she and Zelda had taken the two of them in. It was exhausting work, minding a delinquent warlock and raising an orphaned half-witch, but she enjoyed it thoroughly. Zelda had always drawn her pleasure from tasks of the mind, but Hilda knew how to find joy and satisfaction in a meal she’d prepared being eaten or clothes she’d mended being worn. 

“Aunt Hilda, the kettle is boiling,” Sabrina said. 

“Ambrose, take it off the hob--oh, Sabrina, please do hush, I know you like doing things yourself but you’re just not quite old enough to do this one yet, love--and pour some into that mug right there; that’s the way, thank-you, darling,” Hilda said. “Sabrina, do you have the chamomile leaves packed in the infuser yet?”

“Yes, Auntie!”

“Alright, then place it inside the mug _just_ like that and we’ll let them steep for a few minutes,” Hilda instructed. “While you’re waiting, Sabrina, why don’t you get some biscuits and dried lavender from the pantry. You can fix her tray and make it look extra pretty.”

The tea had steeped, the biscuits were arranged, and the lavender was tied with a blue ribbon. Sabrina gripped the tray with both hands, tongue sticking out the side of her mouth as she concentrated on not spilling anything. 

“Now, sweetheart, don’t let it upset you if your Auntie snaps at you. She very, very, very much does not like being ill, and she likes it even less when other people notice. Even if she says she doesn’t want it, leave the tray on the desk, alright? That’s just her very funny Aunt Zee way of saying, _oh, thank you so much, I’m so delighted you took the time to do this for me_ ,” Hilda said. 

Sabrina laughed. “Auntie Hilda,” she said, shaking her head, “you’re silly. Auntie Zee isn’t scary. She just thinks she is.”

~~~

She’d tried all day not to think about it. Every sniffle, every tickle in her throat, every tiny, dull pain in her head that threatened to turn into a full on headache any second, Zelda had managed to ignore. And quite successfully too, she might add, until evening arrived. She was exhausted, and her sinuses were throbbing enough that she was wishing she’d taken Hilda up on her earlier offer of a poultice. Or, well, at least not rejected the offer so furiously and adamantly that Hilda had left the room halfway in tears.

She dabbed delicately under her nose with her handkerchief as she took notes on the manuscript she was reading. She was translating an old Hebraic text, something she usually excelled at and enjoyed, but today it was slow work, made even slower by the way her vision kept blurring and how she kept unintentionally reading the same sentence over and over.

“Aunt Zelda?” 

Zelda looked up. Sabrina was standing in the doorway, laden down with a tea tray that likely weighed half as much as she did. Zelda fought the ingrained impulse to roll her eyes. _Hilda_. 

“Can I come in?” Sabrina asked. “Or are you too busy?”

“I fear that if I _don’t_ invite you that tray is going to end up all over my floor,” Zelda said dryly. 

Sabrina bit back a smile. “Me and Auntie Hilda made it,” she said. “Isn’t the lavender lovely? I did the bundle myself.”

“Aunt Hilda and I,” Zelda corrected automatically. “And yes, you did a fine job with the lavender. You can leave it over on that table, Sabrina. I’ll have some in a bit, thank you.”

It was intended as a dismissal—talking was hurting her throat, and she felt a sneeze coming on—but Sabrina didn’t leave after she’d divested herself of the tray. She stared at Zelda with that queerly thoughtful expression that occasionally came over her that made her look uncannily like Edward. Zelda always found herself fighting a most maddening urge to fidget when it happened.

“Can I help you with something, Sabrina?” she asked, sniffling back the need to blow her nose. 

“Auntie Hilda said you had a headache,” Sabrina said. “And Ambrose said that it was because you have a cold, but you’re being very busy and important so you won’t have it anymore.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Zelda said crisply. “Witches don’t get sick, and Spellman witches _certainly_ don’t get sick.”

Sabrina smiled slyly. “Auntie Hilda told me you’d say that,” she said.

“Oh, did she now?”

Sabrina nodded. “She also said that you very, very, _very_ much do not like being sick, and that you like it even _less_ when people notice that you are,” she said, then tilted her head to the side. “You know,” she said carefully, “it would be okay if you were sick. I could take care of you. You take care of me when I get sick.”

Zelda gave Sabrina one of her rare smiles and Sabrina positively beamed in return. “Thank you, Sabrina, that’s very kind. I’ll be sure to keep your lovely offer in mind should I ever actually fall ill.”

On the final syllable of her sentence, Zelda’s voice tripped over itself as her breath caught. She managed to get an elbow up just in time to catch a sneeze. She blinked blearily as Sabrina stared back at her, her left eyebrow arched so impeccably that it could rival Zelda’s. “Perhaps,” she allowed warily, “I am feeling slightly under the weather.”

“Auntie,” Sabrina said, “duh.”

~~~

Dinner had been eaten (with many compliments given to the chef) and Hilda and Ambrose were in the kitchen washing the dishes. Sabrina was curled up in her preferred armchair, her well-loved stuffed bear, Hugo, tucked under one arm as she watched _The Princess Bride_ (a favorite of Zelda’s, though she would never admit it, except perhaps under threat of death and/or dismemberment).

Zelda, for her part, had finally surrendered to the inevitable ( _It’s about time_ , Hilda had tutted when Zelda had come to dinner with a handkerchief in hand and a very pathetic expression on her face). At the very least, she’d surrendered enough to lie on the couch under a cozy wool afghan and stop stifling her sneezes into oblivion. 

“Can I make you some more tea, Auntie?” Sabrina asked.

“No, but thank you for offering, sweetness,” Zelda said, smiling faintly.

“Dear me, you certainly are feeling poorly, aren’t you?” Hilda said, appearing in the room. When Zelda gave Hilda a questioning look, Hilda explained, “You only ever use terms of endearment when you’re feeling especially pitying or pitiable, and in this case I am rather certain it is _not_ the former.”

Hilda set a steaming mug down on the coffee table. “I know you said you didn’t want anymore tea,” she said, something in her tone oddly cryptic, “but I think you _may_ just want to take a few sips of this. It’s, mm, my very _special_ cold care tea.”

“What the heaven is in it?” Zelda asked, stirring it suspiciously. “Or do I even want to know?”

“If it were me, Zelds,” Hilda said, eyes twinkling, “I would enjoy the brew first and ask questions later.”

Whatever was in that tea, Sabrina thought to herself a half-hour later as all four Spellmans sat finishing the movie, it certainly made her Auntie Zelda act extremely silly. She laughed so hard during the Miracle Max scene that it triggered a small coughing fit, and she even let Sabrina curl up under the blankets with her, which she almost never did. 

“You have such pretty hair, Sabrina,” Zelda said, playing with it as she spoke. “Your mother had pretty blonde hair, too, you know.”

“Auntie Hilda,” Sabrina said, giggling helplessly, “Auntie Zee is being weird.”

“I think Auntie Zee may be just a tad _s-t-o-n-e-d_ ,” Ambrose said, spelling out the final word.

Sabrina rolled her eyes. “I know you spelled ‘stoned’, Ambrose,” she huffed. “I’m not a baby. I just don’t know what it means.”

Hilda shot Ambrose a look Sabrina couldn’t quite decipher. “Your auntie is nothing of the sort,” Hilda said. “I only gave her some medicine for her cold.”

“And how much, exactly,” Ambrose said, smirking, “is _some_?”

“I can hear you talking about me, you know,” Zelda murmured, then stifled a discreet sneeze in her handkerchief. “You know, Hildy,” she said, turning to her sister, “I don’t say this enough, but I really do adore you.”

“That,” Hilda said to Ambrose, “is _some_. And with that, my loves,” she said to Sabrina and Zelda as she stood up, “I think it’s high time the two of you went to bed.”

“Give us just five more minutes, _please_ , Auntie Hilda?” Sabrina said, giving Hilda her best Bambi eyes. “Pretty please?”

“Yes, Hildy, pretty please?” Zelda said, in a pitch perfect imitation of Sabrina. 

Hilda sighed, powerless in the face of such unselfconscious sweetness. “Well,” she said, as if she were being very magnanimous, “how could I possibly say no to that?”

And as it turned out, she didn’t have to say no. Sabrina and Zelda were both sound asleep before Buttercup and Wesley shared their final kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Not-so-fun fact, y'all: my state has cancelled school until May 2nd (I'm a teacher) which means I will have a LOT of time on my hands to write more fic. *insert several upside down smiling emojis here* 
> 
> Re the above note: my girlfriend & I are actually currently in the middle of writing a much longer (& angstier) Spellwell fic, and I think it's going to end up being very good. I needed to take a break from the angst though, because *gestures at entire news cycle*. The first chapter should be up pretty soon!
> 
> A confession: I truly have no idea what Hilda put in Zelda's tea that made her loopy! I don't know enough about herbs to name any specific ones. So just use your imaginations, I guess? *finger guns*


End file.
